When Lightning Strikes Twice
by TheVelvetDusk
Summary: "The first one is so quiet, so subdued, that he thinks he must have imagined it. Sometimes his brain can be a real bastard like that, constantly manufacturing false alarms and worst case scenarios when everything is perfectly fine." There's a nightmare, a few zombies, and the elephant in the room finally gets some attention. {post-1x16, now a two-shot}
1. Chapter 1

_a/n : this fic is the product of a little plot bunny in my head + a dialogue prompt that the super cool people at timeless-fanfic-prompts on tumblr reblogged a little while back ("Feelings suck, man"). Don't own the show or any of it's characters. Hope you all enjoy it :)_

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It's been a hell of a week.

Monday's jump had started with a literal bang when the three of them experienced a dodgy run-in with a riotous gang of thieves and deadbeats. From there it had been a seemingly endless barrage of red herrings as they searched for Emma in the dingy alleyways of 1956 Harlem, and the day had ended with Wyatt getting shoved through a plate glass window and landing flat on his ass in the street below. The only bright spot in his day had been watching Rufus and Lucy break out into a somewhat off-key version of a _West Side Story_ duet, each of them reenacting the number with ridiculous enthusiasm and acting equally horrified once Wyatt confessed that he wasn't overly familiar with their source of inspiration.

Less that 12 hours later - after Wyatt, at Lucy's insistence, had fallen asleep on the couch to the musical torture that was _West Side Story_ \- they were buckling into the Lifeboat again, headed for a destination that was far more obscure and dismal, not to mention a good fifty degrees colder, than their last location. Lucy was in a tizzy the whole time, horrified for what kind of havoc Emma might bring upon the early construction of Fort Clatsop, Lewis and Clark's struggling encampment positioned in the northern tip of Oregon. The bleak landscape of the West Coast in the early 1800s was no one's idea of fun, so when the unyielding gust of snow swept in and formed an unfathomable barrier between them and the Lifeboat, things got a little ugly. With Lucy shivering uncontrollably for hours on end and Rufus sneezing and sniffling every six seconds, Wyatt quickly hit his limit of helplessness and ventured out into the white-walled squall against the pleading disapproval of his teammates.

And yeah, much as they had predicted, that move turned out to be a mistake...a _big_ mistake.

So once he'd eventually dragged his frozen ass back to their flimsy bit of shelter - after getting turned around in the wrong direction too many times to count - they had to wait out the blizzard for another two days before they could make the journey back to the time machine. Two miserably long days of Lucy lecturing him endlessly on the topic of inflated male ago and the dangers of frostbite, but truthfully, he couldn't bring himself to actually be annoyed with her. Not when there was a persistent shadow of fear darkening her eyes as she followed his every move, like as if she so much as blinked, the blizzard might snatch him up again and not bring him back a second time.

Rufus had taken off immediately once they were finally back at Mason Industries, claiming an insatiable need for the modern gift of NyQuil and a long winter's nap - even though it was currently the dead of summer in present-day San Francisco - but Wyatt had naturally assumed that his real insatiable need was for something else...or more accurately, _someone_ else. Who wouldn't want to run straight into the arms of their significant other after being trapped in a barren winter tundra for the better part of three days?

That seemingly innocent thought had set off a fascinating chain reaction inside of Wyatt, his gaze sliding sideways to covertly examine Lucy before he even realized what he was doing. She was hunched over her laptop in the nearest conference room, her shoulders shaking with an irrepressible chill, presumably a leftover souvenir from their time at Fort Clatsop. His heart lurched in reply and his feet were already in motion, a plan forming in his head as he moved toward her. He'd drag her out to the most sun-soaked spot in the city and force her to drink a countless number of hot beverages until she couldn't even remember what cold felt like, and then maybe after that they could -

But then his phone had chimed from inside of his pocket, and everything else was instantly put on hold.

The number coming across the screen was unfamiliar, but he recognized the area code at once. The call was coming in from West Texas and Wyatt's throat had almost closed up entirely at the sight of it.

His Grandpa Sherwin has been gone for several years, and his mother had passed away even earlier. Jess' family had moved further east after her death, unable to live in a town where they'd be confronted with the memory of their lost daughter everywhere they looked, not that they made a habit of calling Wyatt anyway. He was forever tied to the tragedy of Jessica's death, and he's the first to understand why they might not ever be able to ever look past that.

So before he'd even answered the call, he realized that there was one final link between him and his home state, and damn it if that didn't still make him sick to his stomach even after all this time had passed. That world class son of a bitch must be calling him for a favor, a lousy request for money, legal help, or God only knows what else. Wyatt had slunk off to a private corner of the facility and prayed for _anyone else_ to be on the other end of the line even though he'd known otherwise.

When he'd disconnected the call several minutes later, it had been with a weary sigh of relief. The old man was drunk off his ass and angrier than ever, same old same old, but that's nothing Wyatt couldn't fix. His father's new number was blocked and deleted from the call log as fast as his fingers could snap into motion.

But the damn apple doesn't fall far from the damn tree, so he'd quietly informed Lucy that he was heading home with a promise to leave the hall light on for her. She'd nodded, a telltale crease forming between her eyebrows, but hadn't pushed. Wyatt had locked himself away in his bedroom that night and drank more Jameson than he's allowed himself in quite some time. It had probably been his first real bender since that initial call to report to Mason Industries, but the memory of meeting Lucy that night had threatened to open another can of worms, so he'd swallowed it away with another dash of warm amber liquid and welcomed the dulling blankness that followed.

Thankfully there had been no call from Agent Christopher that night, or any Emma-related activity for the rest of the next day. Lucy eyes him cautiously from her corner of the couch when he finally emerges from the darkened cave of his room well past noon. They don't discuss his shit-faced scowl or bloodshot eyes, but she does offer to make a batch of pancakes and he simply nods gratefully in response before stumbling toward the coffee pot.

He suspects that Lucy had reached out to Rufus at some point that morning - or afternoon, rather - with news of Wyatt's pitiful condition, but he's got no proof of their exchange. Either way, the invitation pings through as a group message between the three of them later that day - _Game night and drinks at my place? Jiya is at a family thing and I'm bored._

Wyatt accepts without hesitation. Not only does he enjoy hanging out with Rufus in their free time, but the third member of the team makes for a very effective buffer when Wyatt's brain starts to go haywire with the unavoidable delusions of what he and Lucy could be doing inside of his small one-bedroom apartment if he'd just let himself act on his physical impulses. There's just something about a post-hangover stupor that has him craving her even more than usual, but he's sure that this is not the right moment to cross that line.

So he gratefully takes the bait and throws himself into the prospect for some uncomplicated time with his friends and a bit of fresh air. It also helps to assume the responsibility of getting Lucy to and from Rufus and Jiya's place without incident, a task that always manages to snap him out of a self-destructive frame of mind. After suffering the aftereffects of last night's whiskey binge, he's practically flinging himself into the role of designated driver this evening.

As it turns out, however, it's been less than half an hour since Rufus greeted them at the door and Lucy is already passed out on the couch, officially dead to the world without ingesting more than a sip of alcohol.

"I don't think she slept at all in Oregon," Rufus says with a sad smile. "She was shivering too hard to relax. Must have woken herself right back up every time she could close her eyes."

Wyatt stares down at her, his gut twisting as he realizes the likely ripple effects of his actions last night. Drinking that much whiskey had undoubtedly made him numb and ineffective, meaning there's no way he would have stirred if she'd been tormented by her usual round of grisly nightmares. It's not a nightly occurrence by any means, but the bad dreams do tend to rear their ugly head every time she comes back from a particularly unpleasant jump, probably the result of bottling up too much stress while they're on the job. Once she's crashed for a few hours, the scenes play out in her head without reprieve. She relives the worst of their close brushes with death, imagines confrontations with her mother or Emma, finds herself in that same car accident from years ago, or Wyatt's least favorite of all, has visions of permanently losing him or Rufus...or both of them at once.

He must be wearing his guilt plainly across his face, because Rufus startles him with a clap on the back and a cheerful reassurance. "She'll be fine, just let her sleep. C'mon, I really didn't want to lose _another_ game of Trivial Pursuit anyway...did you?"

That brings a half-smile to Wyatt's face as he recalls the ruthlessness of Lucy's victory over them the last time they had agreed to play with her. "No, that was brutal."

"Agreed. Guess it's guys night now, and you know what that means."

Rufus is off to cue up the TV along with one of his many game systems, but Wyatt still struggles to leave Lucy's side. Her face is smooth with the solace of sleep, seemingly untroubled - for now - by any of the dark ghosts that live in her subconscious.

He knows Rufus will soon take notice of the way he's weirdly rooted to this spot, so he backs away reluctantly, suddenly wishing that he had never agreed to come over. Now all he wants to do is to curl up against her and hold her while she sleeps, but that is _so not_ how they behave in the presence of additional company. Hell, they don't even do that when they're alone unless she's already fighting through the grips of a nightmare, which is not the case at the moment.

In short, he's totally losing his mind and needs to get his shit together pronto.

Wyatt throws himself into the blur of color and motion that dominates the TV screen, glad for the distraction of shooting fake guns for a fake mission that feels absolutely nothing like the real thing.

The first one is so quiet, so subdued, that he thinks he must have imagined it. Sometimes his brain can be a real bastard like that, constantly manufacturing false alarms and worst case scenarios when everything is perfectly fine. Life - and _love_ , if that applies here - has not been one to treat him too kindly. The byproduct is an overactive sense of dread, an inclination for anticipating trouble which really kicks into gear far too often now that he's surrounded by people that he actually cares about for the first time in far too long.

But then he hears it again. It's a soft whine, high in pitch and all-too-familiar as of late.

Wyatt glances over at Rufus, but his face is screwed up in utter concentration as his fingers fly over the controller with uncanny hyper-speed, totally oblivious to the noise that's emanating from behind them.

"Dude, did you see that?! That son of a zombie bitch went down _hard_."

"Um, yeah," Wyatt mumbles, his head twitching to the side, straining to listen for another sign of her distress over the roaring commotion of the video game. "Good one."

Rufus lets out another whoop of satisfaction as he fires away at another crop of zombies. " _Take that_ , suckas."

Wyatt attempts to cover Rufus' back as their players enter a new room on the screen, but his efforts are sloppy and unfocused. His thumbs move in an automatic rhythm across the buttons, but his head isn't in it anymore. He can't stop thinking about Lucy, and it's only a matter of time before Rufus -

"What the hell, Wyatt? That one was totally yours!"

... _only a matter of time before Rufus calls him on it._

"Sorry, man."

"You're the one with years of real military experience, right? Because it's a little disconcerting that the guy who gets paid to save my life on a regular basis can't even clear his corners in an animated zombie apocalypse."

Wyatt opens his mouth to brush off the grumbling criticism, but then he catches another fragment of that agonizing sound for the third time and he's completely over it. The game can wait. "It's Lucy."

"Huh? What do you mean it's - " Rufus cuts himself off as Wyatt abruptly drops the controller to the floor and stands up, " - whoa, where are you going? We just got to this level."

"She's having a nightmare," he mutters, already crossing the room and perching on the edge of the coffee table in front of her before Rufus can protest further.

Just as he suspects, Lucy's face is warped with severe lines of anguish and she's trembling from beneath the quilt that Rufus had thrown over her earlier. Her long legs are huddled up against her torso as if she's trying to make herself as small and unobtrusive as possible. Wyatt leans closer and starts rubbing her back in slow, even strokes. She whimpers again, her brows scrunching together as she folds further into herself.

Rufus looms over the couch, his words falling around them with unconcealed awe. "Bro, that is some type of freaky sixth sense you have there. How did you just _know_?"

"How did you _not_? It doesn't count as having a sixth sense if you're within hearing range, Rufus."

"Uh huh, sure," he returns with a cluck of his tongue. "Then explain how I was sitting right next to you and had no clue."

"You just don't know what to listen for," he says absently, his forehead ruffling when another tremor darts through Lucy's slight body.

Rufus makes a noise that's suspiciously close to a barely-contained laugh. "Right. That must be it. I'm just not as attuned to Lucy's needs as you are..."

Wyatt glares up at him, the blatant innuendo of that statement hanging heavily between them. He's spared from having to defend himself when Lucy unconsciously slurs a few panicked words together before kicking weakly against the blanket, and Wyatt doesn't think twice. He bends lower until his mouth is less than an inch from her ear, his hand kneading gently between her shoulder blades. "Shhh, it's okay, Lucy. It's okay. You're alright, it's just a dream."

The tension in her spine melts away after a beat, and her puckered expression softens shortly thereafter, the worry lines unfurling bit by bit as she relaxes into the couch cushions once more. He continues to run his hand up and down her back, watching intently until her head droops soundly against the pillow and her breathing evens out again.

It's only then that he remembers that Rufus is still there. He towers above the coffee table, standing there with his arms crossed and an irritating grin stretched broadly over his face. "Well if that wasn't the cutest thing I've ever seen..."

"Can it," Wyatt says sternly, rising to his feet and pointedly avoiding his friend's gaze.

"So not happening, man," he laughs in reply, stepping into Wyatt's path and blocking him from scooting back around the table. "You didn't even have to wake her up. She went right back to sleeping peacefully just knowing that you were there. I don't know about you, but that's giving me some serious feels."

"You know I hate it when you talk like that."

That statement only serves to brighten his smile even further. "You know what I hate? When two people who are obviously perfect for each other won't do anything about it."

Wyatt scoffs and cocks his head to the side. "Remind me again, Mr. Casanova...you and Jiya knew each other for _how long_ before you made a move?"

If he really thought that would take Rufus down a peg or two, it doesn't work. He barks out another laugh, his head reeling backward before he can compose himself. "Even better than I expected. You're not denying that I'm right _and_ you're comparing yourself to an actual established couple. Amazing."

"I don't have to justify anything to you. I know you're full of shit, but there's no use in telling you that."

"Mhmm, sure, _I'm_ the one who's full of shit." Rufus nods down at Lucy, taking in her serene features with a smug look. "This little arrangement of yours must be working out pretty nicely, huh?"

"Oh yeah, it's really something," Wyatt responds dryly. "Did I tell you that she rearranged all of my DVDs about five seconds after she moved in, first by genre, and then alphabetically once they were set up in their 'proper' sections? That was right before she insulted my 'cheap coffee selection' and insisted that there's a funky smell coming from the hall closet. I trip over a stack of her books at least three times a day, and based on her recent inspection of my kitchen, I have a bad feeling that there's going to be a chore list posted on the fridge by the end of the week."

Rufus is still shaking with laughter for reasons that Wyatt can't even begin to understand. "And so between all the cranky married couple behavior, you've also become the expert at anticipating her every move and chasing away the nightmares each night?"

"Come on, Rufus," he sighs, dropping the snarky tone and shifting fully into weary exasperation. "What kind of asshole do you take me for? She has bad dreams all the time, which is really no surprise with everything she's been through lately. What am I supposed to do, ignore her when I know she's upset? Hope that the nightmares go away on their own? Are you telling me you'd pretend it wasn't happening if you were in my place?"

That finally silences him for a moment. His face straightens, the jeering smile evaporating in a flash. "No, it's not that...but there's a reason she chose to go to you that first night instead of coming here. You're good for her, and that's been true even before she knew about this crap with Rittenhouse and her mom. Now if only you could admit that she's good for you too..."

Wyatt presses his lips together and sighs again. "It's complicated."

That aggravating smile returns to Rufus' face, but he keeps his voice level as he puts a hand on Wyatt's shoulder. "And you're officially a walking cliche. No wonder the zombies are whooping your ass. They can sniff out how lame you are through the screen."

"Don't I know it." Wyatt turns his head, examining the gruesome image of exploding zombie guts that they somehow managed to freeze into place right when Rufus had hit the pause button. "Feelings suck, man."

"Ahh, there it is," Rufus returns triumphantly. "A sentiment that I fully understand, my friend, but it doesn't have to be this way."

"It's not the same, Rufus. I'm not scared to tell her, I just..."

"Just don't know how to address the widowed elephant in the room?"

Wyatt swivels back to pin him with a disbelieving scowl. "Did you just call me an elephant? That's really not how that expression goes."

Rufus shrugs, looking more than a little chagrined at his own choice of words. "Yeah, Jiya's been telling me that I need a better filter...?"

That brings an unexpected chuckle out of Wyatt. "What is it that you were saying about cranky married couple behavior?"

"No way, not gonna work. I have a real girlfriend, Wyatt. She's allowed to be cranky with me. She's earned the title."

Wyatt squirms for a second, letting his imagination wander off with the idea of Lucy owning the same title in his life, and if he's being honest with himself, it's not too far from their current reality. He'd be the last one to arm Rufus with this kind of information, but there's a lot more going on between them than reorganizing DVDs and fighting over preferred coffee brands. They haven't crossed the line on anything too damning, clinging to the thin premise that their closeness stems from nothing more than friendly camaraderie, weighted ever so slightly with the indistinct thread of _possibilities_ floating somewhere out in the atmosphere beyond their reach.

But there's only been one other woman in his life who'd gotten the same treatment as Lucy - the spot on his lap that's reserved for her head, the comforting kisses dropped against the curtain of her hair late at night, control of the remote even if it means he's stuck watching sappy rom-coms until she falls asleep - and that woman had been his wife. The haunting feeling of betrayal comes and goes at odd intervals, but more often than not, allowing Lucy into his everyday routine usually feels far more right than it ever does wrong. He'd spent so many years believing that there'd never be room for anyone else after Jessica, and yet it had somehow happened before he could even recognize the signs.

There hadn't been any deliberation on his part when it came to Lucy, just instinctive action. So what if he stayed with her on the couch when she was plagued with nightmares? Was it really such a big deal that he'd taken to tucking her close against his chest until the shaking sobs subsided? Does it really mean anything if the tempo of his heartbeat accelerates into double time when she readily cuddles into him and whispers his name in her sleep?

"You already love her, don't you?"

Wyatt's eyes dart downward to glance at her, thinking the answer to Rufus's rather precarious question will somehow be written out across the soft planes of her face, but instead of finding the comfort that he seeks, the sight that greets him brings nothing but a spiral of panic.

Lucy is blinking solemnly up at him with bleary eyes, clutching the blanket between rigid fingers as her gaze connects with his.

The air swells with his unease and Rufus senses it immediately. He follows Wyatt's gaze, curses under his breath, and backs away somewhat clumsily. "Uh...I think I told Jiya that I would FaceTime her and...let's be real, this just got awkward so I'm disappearing for at least twenty minutes to let you two duke it out. Someone just holler when it's safe to come back."

Wyatt can't look away from Lucy for long enough to acknowledge Rufus' words. His voice sticks as he tries to force something out, sputtering stupidly as the question shakes loose from his throat. "How much of that did you hear?"

"Not much," she mumbles groggily, "came in somewhere around the widowed elephant comment."

He snorts, but it comes out sounding more pathetic than indignant. "Umm...I - "

She shakes her head with a tiny smile, then moves lethargically until she's sitting up against the arm of the couch, the quilt still snarled around her as she pats the cushion next to her. He complies, albeit with a small dose of skepticism. It's hard to believe that she's anything less than pissed off over the blatant fact that they've been talking about her while she was knocked out, but her actions say otherwise. Once Wyatt has taken his seat at her side, she falls into place against him, her legs stretching over his lap and head nuzzled in the junction of his neck and shoulder. He responds automatically by opening his arm and pulling her snugly to his chest. It's as common to him as breathing at this point, the equivalent of a choreographed move in a well-rehearsed dance routine.

When she speaks, he has to tilt his head to catch each syllable that meekly descends into his t-shirt. "I don't think I've ever been in love before."

Wyatt stiffens at that, not at all anticipating this turn in conversation and at a loss for how to reply.

She saves him from his own ineptness by continuing without much pause. "I've dated around, even gotten serious a few times, but I don't know...it just never really _stuck_. When the inevitable breakups came around, I was always upset, but kind of in a matter-of-fact way. Never devastated or shattered...just quietly disappointed. Like I'd never expected it to work anyway. I was usually more heartbroken over the feeling that I'd failed at something than I was over the actual loss of the relationship."

"Lucy..." he murmurs against her head, feeling a strange pang of heartache at this confession.

"It's okay." Her hand rubs at a spot on his opposite shoulder, like he needs to be soothed even though she's the one making herself painfully vulnerable before him. "Once I began to recognize a bit of a pattern, I sort of retreated into myself. Didn't see the point in trying to find someone if maybe...maybe I was the problem. Maybe there was something inside of me that just couldn't really get lost in another person."

Wyatt makes an unwilling sound from the depths of his throat. "That's not - "

"I don't feel that way anymore, Wyatt."

It's all he can do to sit still and keep breathing, unsure of what she means by that, but knowing exactly what he _hopes_ it will mean.

She pulls back just enough to look him in the eye, her expression guarded even though there's a sheen of moisture in her eyes that she visibly forces away before speaking again. "Ironically, we both know that love is the one topic where I'm the cynic and you're the believer. I've struggled to understand how fate and destiny can really drive two people toward each other in such an undeniable way, but not you...you've seen the other side of it. You had your 'meant to be.'"

Wyatt folds his other arm around her legs as soon as he feels her withdrawing further. His brain may be too jumbled to form an appropriate response to all of this, but his body is faster and more dependable. He isn't letting her slide away from him, not when her heart is so agonizingly pinned to her sleeve.

"They...they say that lightning doesn't strike twice, right? So it's alright, I get it - "

"No," Wyatt returns hastily, his voice crackling to life with sudden urgency. "That's inaccurate, actually. Saw it on Mythbusters. Lightning can definitely strike in the same place twice."

Her mouth crinkles into a smile as she releases a muted chuckle. "I know, but I was going for more of a metaphor here...not the real thing."

"Well the metaphor is based on a lie, so I think we should toss it out."

She straightens fractionally, her head ducking shyly. "Wyatt...it's enough for me to feel...to feel _this_ even if you aren't there too. You don't have to - "

He takes her jaw in his hands, effectively silencing the words he doesn't need to hear. "I'm not saying this for your benefit, Lucy. I'm saying it because it's true. I've felt the lightning bolt before, right? So trust me when I say that this - _us_ \- is something special. I feel it too."

A shiver runs through her, but he's sure that this one has nothing to do with the aftermath of her nightmare or the temperature of the room. "Sometimes...sometimes I think I dreamed up that conversation after Flynn's arrest. Or that I read too much into it or - "

"No," he whispers, his thumb sweeping up over her cheekbone, "I just...it was easier to talk about it when I thought I would be losing you otherwise. Now that the assignment is far from over, plus with your mom on their side and Emma kicking our asses on a regular basis, the timing felt... _off_."

"You don't have to be ready right now, Wyatt."

He narrows his eyes at her, because his list of reasons for waiting had nothing to do with whether or not he's ready, and he almost thinks he's misheard her until he sees the way she's looking at him with faltering confidence. "That's not the issue."

She closes her eyes and presses into the touch of his hands on her face. "Are you sure about that?"

He won't lie to her. He can't.

"I-I don't know."

"I'm happy, Wyatt. Or at least as happy as I can be, all things considered." Lucy skims her lips across his cheek and the exhale of her breath on his skin turns him inside out. "I like staying with you. I like that you're always there when I need you. It's enough for now."

He grins slowly, feeling charged with a dangerously addictive amount of electricity that can only be attributed to her. "I think it's time we test that theory. Ya know, like Mythbusters would."

He guides her lips to his, and the sweet pressure of her mouth fully meeting his every movement is almost too much to handle. He gasps softly, reawakened by the kindling of something that he'd only gotten the slightest taste of a lifetime ago in 1934. His hands trace lower, slipping past her neck to her shoulders, then coiling around her back with absolute conviction. Her nails scrape through his hair and she whimpers nearly inaudibly at the hint of his tongue on her lower lip.

God, does it ever feel good to hear her make that sound in response to something other than a bad dream.

He whispers her name against her lips as he sucks in a long, wobbly breath. Her hands land on his shoulders and squeeze tightly, anchoring herself to the moment.

"Tell me this is real," she requests in a tone that is too warm and low for him to truly comprehend at first. He kisses her again and again, greedy and light-headed with desire.

"Very real," he answers when he can't go any longer without breaking away for air, "as real as a lightning bolt."

Lucy lays a kiss on the pulse point that's thumping wildly below his jaw before pressing her face into his neck. "You have a way of constantly challenging everything that I think I already know. It's kind of infuriating."

He laughs and hugs her even closer. "Someone's got to keep you on your toes, ma'am. Life is more exciting that way."

"Life is _definitely_ far from boring with you around."

"Likewise," he returns with a kiss to her temple. "Let's keep it that way, okay?"

She nods into his collar, then shifts sideways inside of his arms before catching sight of the television and letting out a disgruntled noise. "I thought game night meant _board_ games, not whatever the hell that is..."

"You vetoed your right to an opinion when you took a nosedive on this couch and didn't come back up."

"Damn right she did," Rufus pipes up, his face barely visible through the microscopic gap he's created between the kitchen door and its frame. "How are my two favorite teammates, by the way? Because I need my boy Wyatt in one piece to help me maintain our new high score."

Wyatt arches a brow at Lucy, and she smiles back at him with a bubbling little laugh before answering. "I went easy on him, Rufus. But if I let you guys terrorize the zombies for a while longer, that means we play Trivial Pursuit next."

She's met with matching groans from the two of them, but as Wyatt has come to expect, their dissent only adds to her determination.

"What? Fair is fair, guys."

He presses his mouth to her ear and speaks in a voice that's pitched just for her. "Nothing I can do to persuade you otherwise, babydoll?"

Lucy's cheek caresses his as she angles herself higher inside of his embrace. "Hmmm...sorry, don't think so."

She pushes away from him with an impish grin that taunts him to distraction, and for the second time in the last hour, he's downright desperate to be alone with her in his apartment.

In _their_ apartment.

Rufus saunters back into the room with a pompous look, making a grand show of examining both Wyatt and Lucy with shrewd eyes. "So you guys are looking pretty cozy, huh? I'm thinking our first double date could be Sunday brunch at this new place Jiya wants to try. Or a double date karaoke night. Wait, no, this is it - double date cooking classes!"

Wyatt throws a pillow at him as Lucy just shakes her head with an attempted scoff, but they're both grinning too hard to put him off of his teasing.

"Even better, a double date weekend down the coast! I'm thinking Santa Barbara, or maybe Catalina Island. And I know it's still early, but how do you guys feel about couples massages?"

As obnoxious as Rufus is being at the moment, Wyatt can't help but smirk at the rosy hue migrating up Lucy's neck as she grumbles back in response. "Just play the damn game already, will you?"

It's been a hell of a week, but as it turns out, Wyatt's weekend is off to a much brighter start.


	2. Chapter 2

_a/n : back by (somewhat) popular demand, here's a follow-up to When Lightning Strikes Twice! Can a fic with the word 'twice' in the title really have only one chapter? I suppose not._ _I don't often get convinced to expand upon a oneshot, but there were a few of you who made some excellent points via review and PM, so here we are :) I will say, however, that writing this one kind of felt like work..? So my apologies if it isn't up to par. I was def on the struggle bus._

 _Also - happy belated birthday to_ _Gracielinn! This one goes out to you, friend :)_

* * *

This weekend is turning out to be far less simple than the one he'd imagined.

Rufus had made a potent pitcher of celebratory mojitos on Friday after calling it quits on the video game, insisting that they toast to Wyatt and Lucy's new relationship several times over. Lucy had grimaced over the rim of her first drink, giving Rufus an accusatory look as she asked if he'd accidentally spilled the whole bottle of rum when he'd been mixing up the pitcher. Wyatt couldn't disagree with her. It was a hell of a strong mojito, but it hadn't really mattered much to him since he'd limited himself to just one drink. He was the one driving home, after all, plus he knew how to handle his alcohol... _within reason_.

But somewhere between her third and fourth glass - all of which Rufus had steadily poured without pause - it became obvious that Lucy wasn't quite holding her own.

"What exactly are you doing?" Wyatt had growled at Rufus after Lucy staggered her way to the bathroom with a sloshing drink still in hand. "I feel like you're the one who's trying to get lucky tonight, and in the sleaziest way possible, I might add."

" _What_?" he'd replied in horror. "I understand that you're now officially in the honeymoon phase of a real relationship, but get your brain out of the gutter, dude. My master plan is to keep the libations flowing for long enough to make her forget all about that game of Trivial Pursuit. At the very least, this should give us a chance of actually keeping up with her if she still insists on playing."

But she hadn't insisted. With the fourth mojito down and a fifth one in hand, she'd plead with them to turn the video game back on and let her take a crack at "massacring those damn zombies."

The result had admittedly been hilarious. Who _didn't_ want to witness Lucy clumsily smacking at the buttons on her controller while simultaneously spewing a litany of frustrated curse words every time her player died on screen? But ultimately, the evening hadn't ended anywhere near the way that Wyatt had initially hoped it would. There were worse ways to end a Friday than throwing a snoring Lucy over his shoulder and carrying her up to the apartment with his keys in hand, but as he settled her onto his bed and took off her shoes, he couldn't deny the small twinge of disappointment that buzzed in the back of his head. He wasn't sure how to proceed with the rest of her clothing, wasn't even sure if he should crawl in next to her or swap her for couch duty until they could talk more candidly about the potential for new sleeping arrangements.

Armed with the memory of Lucy draping herself across him as they'd sat together on Rufus' couch just a few hours ago, he couldn't convince himself that she'd really want him to slink off to the living room for the night. So he'd rearranged the sheets over the both of them, fastened an arm around her waist, and breathed in the enticing scent of her hair fanning out across the pillowcase until he couldn't keep his eyes open for a moment longer.

The bed had been regrettably devoid of Lucy when he woke the next morning, but her absence didn't last for very long. There was a hum from not far away, something that Wyatt could distinguish as the faucet running in the adjoining bathroom once he'd blinked the dredges of sleepiness from his head. Then the water shut off and there she was a moment later, her lithe - and barely covered - body creeping into view in the pale morning light.

"Hey," he'd muttered hoarsely, glad for the excuse of just waking up to disguise the _other_ reason his voice hadn't come out quite right.

"Hey back," Lucy smiled shyly, the hem of his old ARMY t-shirt rising and dipping in a way that absorbed all of his attention as she toed her way across the room. "I, um, woke up in the middle of the night and...and I hope you don't mind that I grabbed something more comfortable to wear before falling back asleep. The skinny jeans were not doing it for me."

The flimsiness of that explanation didn't escape him. She'd lived with him for a few weeks now, meaning she had several pairs of her own pajamas arranged neatly in a suitcase just one room over. She easily could have chosen to go retrieve them if she'd been uncomfortable, not that he was one to complain. The sight of her long bare legs peeking out from under a shirt that belonged to him was something he could readily get used to; he might even find himself encouraging it.

"Huh," he'd grunted with a half-smile. "That's interesting, because those skinny jeans on you were _definitely_ doing it for me last night."

She beamed in response before glancing sheepishly away from him. "Is that right?"

"Oh yeah," he answered as his smile extended wider, "I'm a fan. Although this current look of yours is even better."

His hands had locked around her as soon as the mattress dipped under her slight weight, rolling her into him so that he could stamp a good morning kiss to her upturned lips. He'd backed away with a pang, however, once her earlier words finally permeated his desire-addled brain. "You woke up last night? Were you okay or -"

"No nightmares if that's what you're asking," she'd said cryptically.

He raised an inquisitive brow at her, prompting an embarrassed laugh as she turned her head into the nearest pillow.

"Just too many of those damn mojitos."

Wyatt sat up with a frown, twisting sideways to look down at her in complete confusion. "You were sick? How the hell can I hear you having a bad dream from here to the living room but not know when you leave my own bed because frickin' Rufus poisoned you?"

She watched him carefully with a crinkled brow, only a small spark of amusement reaching her eyes at his vehement words. "Well, you did sort of stir for a second when I first got up, but I told you it was okay and that was the end of it. You were out again in a split-second. Made me wonder if you still weren't feeling one hundred percent recovered from the night before..."

"Oh please, I'm fine," he grumbled irritably. "I'm not the one who had to kneel before the porcelain gods, now am I?"

"It wasn't that bad. Gave me a chance to chug down a bottle of water and a few Advil afterwards, which was definitely a good thing." Lucy pulled him down with her fingers tangled in the collar of his shirt, her lips smoothing across his forehead as he sagged into the pillow next to her. "So...wanna tell me what prompted that little blackout session of yours on Thursday night?"

Wyatt ducked his head until his mouth found the unthinkably tender skin below her earlobe. "I'd rather tell you something else..."

The shiver that went through her produced a thrilling shudder of his own. He didn't give her the opportunity to argue further, just sought the same spot again and kissed it far more deliberately, opening his mouth to taste her skin in way that he'd been fantasizing about for far too long. Lucy arched into him with a sigh, her leg pressing provokingly into the space between his own. She was making an impatient whining sound a moment later, capturing his whiskery jaw in her hands and redirecting his mouth up to hers, a frantic petition that he had no objection to fulfilling.

And just as he was dragging her even closer and preparing to snake a hand beneath that stolen t-shirt of his that she'd donned, the buzz of his cellphone broke through their blissful reverie.

They were jumping. Panama City, 1907.

Wyatt had disconnected the call with a frustrated groan, not bothering to relay the message from Agent Christopher when he knew Lucy had been close enough to hear the whole conversation.

"She wants to interfere with construction of the canal? Well at least there won't be any blizzards this time," she muttered with a frown. "Can't be worse than Oregon, right?"

 _Famous last words._

Panama had been about the same temperature as Satan's butthole, and if Wyatt hadn't sweated out his entire body weight more than a few times over while deployed in the Middle East, he probably would have decided to curl up and die within the first two hours of landing in the infernal humidity that pressed upon them in 1907. As it stood, his main objective for the day was to keep Lucy and Rufus alive for long enough to figure out why Emma had drawn them out to the actual pit of hell.

When they'd returned to 2017 more than fifteen hours later, Agent Christopher had barely taken one look at them before ordering the whole team to the infirmary for a series of tests and examinations. Wyatt had tried to shrug it off, but quickly stifled his argument once the extent of the risks that were working against them - including yellow fever, malaria, dehydration, and heat exhaustion - had been outlined in vivid detail by both Denise and Lucy.

As he was finally driving Lucy home another two hours later, it was clear that if the threat of heat exhaustion hadn't gotten to her, just plain old _normal_ exhaustion was certainly taking its toll. She'd fought to keep her eyes open for the first few minutes, but it was a losing battle. Her chin dipped toward her chest as her body slumped forward against the restraint of the seat belt.

"Lucy," he'd spoken softly at the nearest stop sign, tapping his fingers against her leg with a blend of mirth and concern. She squinted at him blearily as he gestured toward the other side of her seat. "Just put your seat back, okay? Before your head puts a hole in my dashboard."

There was a mumbling answer, something about staying awake for his sake, but she didn't fight him when he simply reached across her to crank the lever and recline the seat himself.

So for the second time in as many nights, he'd scooped an unconscious Lucy out of his truck and carried her inside, taking care this time to remove her less-than-comfortable jeans before tucking her in at his side. She turned into his arms right as he settled back against the mattress, cuddling up against his chest with a cozy, sleep-laden sigh.

Even so, Wyatt laid awake for the better part of an hour.

He was pissed about Emma's unrivaled upper hand, infuriated over the seemingly indiscernible purpose behind most her jumps. And when he thought about Emma and her elusive pattern through history, he was then forced to stew over the question of how she'd flipped sides so abruptly, because it still didn't add up in his mind. How could she go from helping Flynn in his quest to eradicate Rittenhouse, only to steal the Mothership less than a day after his arrest, acting on behalf of the same creepy pricks she'd just been working to defeat? And from there, of course, Wyatt was grinding his teeth over the situation with Lucy's mom. She'd somehow managed to slip away at just the right moment and hadn't done anything to raise a single flag in Homeland's search for her, lurking somewhere out there as an elusive piece of the puzzle that hadn't been seen since the day she'd dropped the Rittenhouse bomb on her daughter.

Wyatt tightened his arms around Lucy as she slept, praying for another night to pass without a trace of those horrific nightmares, many of which revolved around her mother's betrayal. He would do anything to eliminate them, to put an end to the heart-rendering tears that followed without fail and the spells of silence that would often consume her for a full day after the worst of those damn dreams.

She burrowed impossibly closer in her sleep, causing her shirt to ride up higher from where Wyatt's hand was resting at her waist. His palm slipped against the smoothness of her exposed back, effectively breaking him out of the thundercloud of his dreary thoughts. If nothing else, at least _this_ had happened. At least Lucy was here - in his life, in his bedroom, in his arms.

And if there was a higher power out there who cared for him at all, maybe everything else could settle down for just long enough to give them the morning off tomorrow. It was unlikely that Emma would be in any hurry to jump again so soon after such a miserable day of running around in the oppressive heat of Panama City and its surrounding wetlands. And if she wasn't a factor, then there wasn't much else that could get in the way of his plan to spend a few lazy hours alone with Lucy, right?

Or so he had thought.

"No, not happening, Lucy," he grunted up at her as she started to make the bed with him still in it.

"We agreed to go, Wyatt. We can't be rude."

" _I_ did not agree to anything. _You_ \- " he shook a finger at her, pouting like a toddler and not feeling even the slightest bit ashamed of it, " - with your lousy weakness for rum and your weird obsession with Yelp reviews - _you_ are the one who agreed to this when Rufus wouldn't let up on it. I do not _brunch_. That is not a thing I do."

"It's basically just breakfast served after ten," she said with a laugh. "You have no case against brunch."

"No, it's fancy and pretentious. And there's drinking, right? So next thing I know you'll be five mojitos in and begging to play more video games with Rufus instead of coming back here with me."

She was still smiling as she took his hand in both of hers and tried to haul him out of bed. "It won't be fancy and I'll go easy on the alcohol. You have my word."

Thankfully, gravity and body mass were both on his side. Wyatt tugged playfully, upending her with a corrupt grin. She crashed into him and ended up sprawled across the comforter, trying - and failing - to looked annoyed at his childish antics.

"C'mon, Lucy..." his fingers traced across her hand and up her arm as he twisted to pin her to the mattress. "Let's stay in. They'll get over it."

"You're saying that as if you don't like hanging out with Rufus and Jiya," she said in a huff.

"No, I'm saying it like I'd just prefer to spend the morning without them. There's a difference."

She made a move to roll away, but he didn't release her, his grip cinching down around her wrist before he lifted her arm into the air and inspected it with narrowed eyes.

"What are you doing?" Lucy murmured suspiciously.

"Trying to figure out how your hand stays attached to the rest of your arm."

She scoffed and made another unsuccessful attempt at escape. "It's called a wrist, Wyatt."

He rotated her arm between his hands, shaking his head doubtfully. "I don't think this qualifies as a wrist. It's _tiny_...look, it disappears when you turn it sideways."

Lucy flopped backwards, finally abandoning the fight for her freedom as she scowled at him. "Don't make fun of my scrawny giraffe limbs."

"Your... _scrawny giraffe limbs_?" he asked with an arched eyebrow. "Is that a direct quote from something? Because - "

"Yes," she cut him off icily, "from my mother, actually. I hit a ridiculous growth spurt the summer after sixth grade, and thus the term was born. She was always trying to convince me that she said it with nothing but affection."

Wyatt frowned, then used said wrist to propel her body back into his. "Wonderful. Another reason to despise Carol Preston."

Lucy was mid-eye roll when he bent lower to kiss her forehead, then her lips.

"You're beautiful, Lucy," he murmured against her, "anyone with eyes can see that. And trust me, when I think about your limbs - which happens far more often than I should admit - the words 'scrawny' and 'giraffe' are _not_ what comes to mind."

A slow grin worked its way across her face. "No?"

"Uh uh...not even close."

He'd kissed her then, fused his mouth to hers with enough impassioned longing to leave no room to doubt what sort of thoughts were running through his head - as well as his body - when she was involved. Lucy pulled back with a doe-eyed fogginess clouding her features, releasing a shaky exhale as she spoke. "You can't kiss me like that or we'll never make it to the restaurant in time."

"You promise?" Wyatt asked with a smirk.

She shoved her palm against his chest, her eyes flashing in warning. "The longer you fight me on this, the longer it takes for me to get ready, which means we _will_ be late to meet them and then I'll insist on staying out _even later_ to make up for our tardiness. Got it?"

"Yes, ma'am," he answered with a mock solute, knowing when he'd been beat, all the while hating himself for being such a pushover. Lightning might be capable of striking twice, but what the hell is a guy supposed to do when the intended targets of said lightning can't seem to catch a break?

So here he is, wearing the stiff button-up that Lucy had chosen from his closet, sitting in a dining room that's too stuffy and cramped, flipping through a menu that's lackluster at best. At worst, it's downright terrifying.

"Breakfast sushi? Are they serious?"

Jiya is barely stifling a giggle, Rufus is peering at him sympathetically from above his menu, and Lucy is glaring as she hisses her reply. "Keep your voice down, will you?"

Obviously he didn't want to go out in the first place, but now he's genuinely pissed because she totally lied to him about brunch. This place is _definitely_ fancy.

"I don't know what the hell half of this is," he claims in a tone that is only half a notch quieter than before. "Kale Frittata? Avocado & Burrata Toast...honestly, _burrata_? They made that up. And oh look, Quinoa Crusted Ahi Tuna. My favorite," he finishes in a completely deadpanned voice.

He swears that Lucy's nostrils are flaring with aggravation as she turns to him. "Hilarious, Wyatt. Go back to the first page, okay? There were more ordinary choices at the beginning."

"Oh right...the _ordinary_ stuff. Like I'm going to order one bowl of granola for almost nine dollars. Do you know how much granola you can get at a grocery store for nine dollars?"

"Oh my god, I didn't know someone invited my father to come along today," Jiya says with a chuckle, careful to avoid Wyatt's eyes after making that remark.

"Well in that case, your father sounds like a very reasonable man," he answers with a shrug. "Can't say the same for mine."

That raises Lucy's antennae for reasons that Wyatt instantly understands. He's rarely spoken about his father in front of any of them, but she's at least heard what a first-rate bastard the guy is, and that's more than he'll reveal to most people. He's not at all surprised to feel her curious gaze on him after he's mentioned him out of the blue like that. In fact, he'd sort of astonished himself with that left field comment.

It's Rufus, however, who chimes in a second later, and his response robs the wind right out of Wyatt's lungs. "Yeah, sorry about that, dude. I thought you were gonna chuck your phone straight into a wall when you were dealing with him the other day. Sounded awful."

Lucy glances uncertainly from Wyatt to Rufus and back again, an injured look coming into her eyes. "You...you talked to your dad recently? In front of Rufus?"

The question she hasn't verbalized is clearer than crystal - _why does he know about this and I don't_?

All three of them are staring at him now, and Rufus belatedly tries to fix things, but Wyatt can barely concentrate on his explanation.

"Uh, not exactly...I came back for my jacket, accidentally left it in the locker room, you know. And I - I just happened to overhear you on the phone. I thought you saw me, but uh..." he scratches the back of his head, floundering at the awkward silence that's fallen over their table, "...maybe not?"

"No," Wyatt replies gruffly. "Didn't see you."

Their waiter appears then, and damn it if he still has no freaking clue what he's supposed to order. He muddles his way through it without much fanfare, choosing to go with an overpriced granola bowl, because at least he's heard of all the ingredients that are listed underneath that heading. And then he adds on a side of applewood smoked bacon - since just plain bacon would never be good enough in a place like this - because he can't imagine how one bowl of granola could possibly be enough to fill him.

Although he's admittedly far less hungry now that he knows Rufus had caught part of that nauseating conversation with his dad the other day.

"So, um..." Jiya sputters for a safe topic once the waiter is gone again, but with Rufus looking painfully contrite, Lucy frowning down at her place setting, and Wyatt being about two seconds from complete shutdown mode, there's no one there to help her in finding the proverbial olive branch out of this situation. "It's great to finally go out with you guys and not have to pretend that it isn't a double date, right?"

Wyatt makes a protesting noise in his throat. "And I thought karaoke night sounded bad..."

No one laughs. No one really reacts at all.

"Look man, I'm sorry," Rufus says hastily, "I should have kept my mouth shut. I didn't know that - "

"It's okay, Rufus."

He fidgets nervously with the cloth napkin before leaning forward to try again. "No, I - "

Wyatt shakes his head with a halfhearted smile. "Really. It's okay. I'd rather just drop it, alright?"

Rufus nods slowly, then sits back and wraps an arm around Jiya. "Well I for one am thrilled to see the look on your face when you discover what a real granola bowl looks like, Wyatt. I think this is gonna rock your world."

"You'll be a brunch convert before you know it," Jiya agrees with a grin.

"You're both insane," Wyatt says lightly, but he can't help but notice that Lucy isn't joining in the banter, and that sets him on edge even as he pretends to willingly go along with the conversation. "Don't even get me started on the fact that you were able to order something as absurd as _Salmon Benny Bombs_ with a straight face."

"Hey, I'm secure enough in my masculinity to say Salmon Benny Bombs as much as I want to. I'll even take a picture of it and post it on Instagram just to prove how cool I really am."

Wyatt makes a show of wincing disdainfully at Rufus' statement as his hand settles on Lucy's knee and gives it a squeeze from beneath the table. "Every time I think this friendship is going to work, you just have to go and say something like that."

He feels Lucy gradually relaxing beside him as his thumb sweeps back and forth over the soft skin of her leg. She's wearing a simple striped sundress, her hair falling loosely in natural waves around her shoulders, and even if this isn't the best start to a real first date for them, he wants her to know that he's still happy to have her next to him.

But apparently he's been studying her appreciatively from the corner of his eye for long enough to garner the notice of their companions, because before he knows it, Jiya is making some terrible squealing racket about how cute they are together and how long she's wanted them to just give up the charade already.

"Oh you have no idea," Rufus squawks back at her like she's speaking out of turn. "You think it's bad at Mason or when they're hanging out with us? You should see them in the past. It's all - _Wyatt, be careful!_ _Lucy, look out!_ \- every twenty seconds. Just picture the entire last hour of _Titanic_ when Jack and Rose are running around the ship yelling each other's names like crazy people and then you'll understand my misery."

Jiya nearly snorts out a mouthful of her mimosa, causing Rufus to continue his monologue with renewed zeal.

Wyatt leans closer to Lucy with both eyebrows raised. "Are we letting him get away with this?"

"Hell no," she responds with a small smile, "but I am starting to reevaluate how much I scream your name on an average jump."

"Do I get a say in the matter? Because I'm definitely pro-screaming if it's gonna save my life from a flying tomahawk or something."

Lucy is on the brink of replying, but Jiya slams her glass down to the table and gapes at them. "Excuse me, did I just hear the term 'pro-screaming' from that side of the table?"

It takes Wyatt half a second to comprehend the suggestive tone that she's using, and Rufus nudges her shoulder with a groan, his other hand waving around in the air as if to clear away her question. "Don't mind her. Jiya watches too much HBO. Practically raised herself on Sex in the City. She can't help herself."

He seems to sense that he's already given her the opportunity to say something equally obscene, because he claps his hand over her mouth with wide-eyed panic as soon as he's finished speaking. "No. No more, Jiya. You'll scare them off."

Wyatt glances at Lucy, but her head is bent low to examine the variety of sugar packets in front of her with marked diligence and he can tell that she's not budging until the awkwardness of the moment has passed.

Rufus steers the conversation to safer waters, asking Wyatt if he's seen the trailer for the latest Marvel flick, and then their food arrives shortly thereafter, triggering a new wave of good-natured teasing over the gigantic portion of Wyatt's granola bowl in comparison to the fussy little dollops of food that decorate Rufus' plate. Jiya steals one of the strange little egg bombs from Rufus without a word, then quickly slices through half of her lemon poppy seed pancake and deposits it on his plate.

"Want syrup with that?" she asks while reaching over to snag another bite of his food, then she passes the syrup to him even though he hasn't answered her. Rufus takes it, pours a generous amount over his half of the pancake, and proceeds to pour some over hers too before putting the bottle down again.

Wyatt watches in wonder, waiting for one of them to disapprove of something that their partner just did, but it's like a finely honed routine for them. He'd never been like that with Jess, but then again, they had pretty similar tastes and often ordered the same things when they went out.

He casts his gaze at Lucy and her plate, but there's nothing there that he can even think about touching. She's cutting demurely into some type of egg dish, probably a frittata if he remembers correctly, and he thinks his stomach might actually be lurching at the smell of whatever is inside of that thing. There's no chance of splitting their meals and swapping bites. He's adamantly sticking to his 'ordinary' food even if it lands him in the doghouse later.

She feels his sidelong look and peers up at him with a wary glance, so he just shrugs it off and focuses on eating while nodding along vacantly to the story that Rufus is currently telling.

By the time the plates are cleared and the bill has been settled, Wyatt can't shake the forlorn feeling that this has been some type of unspoken disaster. He'd tried to tell her that this was a bad idea, and he almost reminds her of that fact on the too-quiet ride home but can't bring himself to speak it aloud. Even if going out for brunch wasn't high on his list of fun ways to kill a free Sunday, he realizes that he hates the thought of disappointing her even more than he hates pretentiously priced breakfast foods. This was the kind of thing she'd probably enjoyed far more often in her pre-time travel life and he's presumably flunked his first test as Lucy Preston's new boyfriend.

He decides to make amends before they've even made it inside again, catching her elbow as she rounds the front of the vehicle and meeting her eyes with his most apologetic look. "Hey, I'm sorry if I -"

"No," she says with a minuscule shake of her head, "you don't need to do that."

"But, Lucy -"

"Let's just go in, okay?"

He follows her lead with a bewildered frown, letting go of her arm and walking a half-step behind her until they're through his front door. "Are you sure that - "

Lucy turns abruptly, wraps her arms around his neck, and lifts herself up on her toes to kiss him resolutely. To say that she's caught him off guard is a massive understatement, but his body reacts on nothing more than instinct. His mouth opens to hers and his hands envelope her waist. She doesn't go far when she ends the kiss, just hugs him closer and rests her head into his shoulder.

"I'm the one who's sorry, Wyatt. I knew something had to be off for you to drink like that the other night, but I had no idea..."

He fights to keep himself still, not wanting to allow even the most microscopic tremor to pass through him as he's forced to acknowledge this topic yet again. "It's not a big deal. Just needed to get it out of my system. All better now."

She keeps her cheek pressed to his chest with a hand brushing up and down his back. "You could have told me, you know. Might have helped you get over the hump without the hangover."

"I know," he says quietly, surprising himself with how much he means that, "I just figured you have enough parental drama on your plate without adding mine to the mix."

Lucy pulls back to look at him with more sincerity welling in her dark eyes than he's ever seen in anyone. "I don't want to be shielded from what's going on with you. I can handle it."

"It's not that I think you _can't_ handle it..."

"But that I just shouldn't have to?" she asks with a meaningful tilt of her head.

He nods grudgingly, already anticipating the backlash of that admission.

"Did you ever think that maybe it wouldn't be so bad to be reminded that I'm not the only one with a few skeletons rattling around in the family closet? Or that it could be beneficial to focus on someone else's problems for once? You're not my therapist, Wyatt. This relationship is supposed to go both ways."

He steps closer to fill the small gap that she's created between them, nuzzling his head against hers and willing the rush of anxiousness in his veins to subside. "I haven't had to do this for a while, Lucy. That's not an excuse, I just...I was never good at sharing stuff about my family to begin with, and now I've spent a lot of time _not talking_ about any of it, because...because without Jess, I didn't have to. I'll try to do better."

She sinks into him with a soft sigh. "Thank you."

Wyatt drops a kiss against her temple, breathing in deeply before continuing. "He didn't call for anything in particular. He's just the type of asshole who pops up for no reason at all, other than to remind me of how much he despises me, of course. Don't know how he got this new number, but I made sure he won't get through a second time."

Lucy squeezes her arms around his middle with a pressure so compelling that it might just be crushing his internal organs. "He must be the biggest asshole in the whole world to not realize how great you are...it's his loss, Wyatt."

He's incapable of making any coherent reply. She's apparently knocked his voice box right out of him, and it's not because of her strangling hold around his torso.

"For the record, I'm also sorry about brunch. You were right. We should have taken a rain check on that."

It requires some effort on his part, but Wyatt eventually manages to pry her arms off of him to see her more clearly. "Really? I was right? Can I get that in writing?"

"Don't be a jerk," she says with a burgeoning grin. "You're supposed to accept my apology more gracefully than that."

"Right, of course...so which part _exactly_ was I right about?"

Lucy shoves him away, chuckling involuntarily as she tracks her way though the apartment. "I'm not feeding your massive ego. Figure it out for yourself."

He catches up to her in a second, looping his arms around her from behind, completely unable to suppress a laugh of his own as she squirms in response. "I'd rather figure it out with you, though."

He kisses her neck until she's melting into him, then drags her through the open doorway into his bedroom with his lips still attached to her skin.

"Which part should we complain about first," he asks as he topples across the bed with her, "the weird food or the weird company?"

She smiles up at him before shaking her head and biting her lip. "I don't know, but _weird_ is definitely the keyword in that equation. Why was that so hard? It's not hard when we hang out here alone...and we've done stuff as a group before and it never felt like that, right?"

Wyatt nods, lowering his mouth to hers for a slow kiss. "I blame the Salmon Benny Bombs. And Jiya. I blame her too. She was watching us like we were two fish on display in an aquarium."

"She's just excited for us," Lucy murmurs, pulling his head back down for a kiss that lasts even longer than its predecessor. "Maybe you're not supposed to go on double dates before you go on single dates."

"Is that your less than subtle way of asking me out, ma'am?" he asks with a heady smirk.

"Yes," she answers without hesitation as she rolls onto her side, "but I have two conditions."

He plays with the edge of her dress, inching it ever so slightly higher up her leg. "Alright, let's hear 'em."

"One, you have to promise not to turn your nose up at the food I order when we go out."

"I did not turn my - "

"You did," she interrupts with an imposing look, "I know what I saw. Just because Rufus shares with Jiya doesn't mean you're supposed to follow suit. I'll eat what I like and you are free to do the same. Fair enough?"

He snickers at the businesslike tone, but shrugs his agreement. "Okay, and the second condition?"

"I need you to fix whatever the hell is going on with the kitchen sink before we're going anywhere."

"What?" he sputters indignantly. "The sink is fine."

"No, it clogs all the time and makes a strange noise after I'm done rinsing dishes. That's not fine, Wyatt."

"Let me recap here, just so I know we're on the same page." His fingers move more decisively over her leg, skimming the back of her thigh as he prods her closer. "I'm not allowed to take you out on our first real _normal_ date until I unclog a sink...?"

She scoots nearer just as he'd hoped she would, nodding with an eager smile that lights him up all over.

"And who says romance is dead?" he snarks back with a grin that betrays his real feelings.

Lucy's face reflects great concentration as her hands go to work on the task of unbuttoning his shirt. "The way I see it, we've done almost everything else backwards at this point, so why stop now? I moved in with you before we started dating. We went on a double date before we ever had the chance to go out alone. I think it makes perfect sense that we go against tradition again. Just buy me some Drano for our first date instead of flowers and we're set."

"Very practical," he says with a kiss to her forehead. "I'll accept your conditions, but only if I get to add in one of my own."

"Yes?" she asks while idly guiding the shirt off of his shoulders.

"We throw one more tradition out the window and I get lucky _before_ the date."

Lucy sends him a sassy smirk of her own before leaving an inviting kiss on his bare shoulder. "I find those terms to be rather agreeable."

This weekend is turning out to be far less simple than the one he'd imagined, but as Wyatt has the immense pleasure of flinging Lucy's sundress across the room a few moments later, he decides that simple is overrated.


End file.
